All We Are
by Clare Hope
Summary: Series of one-shots from when the boys are little and on the road, Weechesters! Ranges from super light fluff to darker hurt/comfort. I'd love prompts/suggestions! (Titles are from the Kansas song "Dust in the Wind", and as soon as I've finished all of the stories I want to write, I will put the chapters in lyrical order.)
1. I Close My Eyes

Riding in a car for twelve hours straight was _really _boring. Sam Winchester, a six-year-old boy, sighed as he tried to keep still. Finally, he couldn't take it anymore and started pestering his brother. "Deeeeaaan. Play a game with me."

"Not right now, Sammy," Dean replied sleepily. "Take a nap or something."

"But I _just_ woke up," Sammy protested. "Deeaan, I'm bored."

"Stop being such a baby."

Normally, that would shut Sam up efficiently, but not today. "Please, Dean, I'm really bored. Play a game with me."

"We shouldn't bug Dad."

"We won't bug Dad! You don't mind if we play a game, do you, Dad?" Sam pleaded to their father, John, who was driving.

"Just don't make too much noise," John replied.

Dean sighed. "Fine, Sammy. What do you want to play?"

Now Sam was stumped. "I dunno," he admitted. "Something."

"Well, figure it out, and then maybe I'll play with you," Dean laughed.

Sam fell silent. Then his face brightened. "Twenty questions!" he said, delighted.

"Okay," Dean agreed. "I'll guess first."

"I've got something."

"Person, place or thing?"

"Thing."

"Small enough to hold in your hands?"

"Yes."

"Is it in the Impala with us right now?"

"Yes!"

"Can you see it?"

"Um…no."

"Is it in the trunk?"

"I don't think so."

"Is it food?"

"No…"

"So it isn't my sandwich?"

Sammy laughed. "No, it isn't your sandwich, Dean."

"I dunno, Sammy, is it…is it something of Dad's?"

"Yup!"

"Does he bring it with him everywhere?"

"Yes."

"It's his journal, isn't it?"

"Yeah!" Sam said, completely thrilled that Dean had gotten it right. "Okay, your turn."

"Okay. Got it."

"Person, place or thing?"

"Place."

"Those are hard! Okay. Is it a place we've been recently?"

"Yes."

"Is it a city?"

"No."

"A state?"

"No. Think smaller."

"A building!"

"Yeah…"

"Is it Uncle Bobby's house?"

"Yeah! Good job, Sammy."

"I did it! I did it!"

"Yeah you did! Do you want to play again?" Dean offered.

"Not right now. I'm tired." Sam yawned. "I think I will take a nap now."

"You do that, Sammy. Sleep well." Dean reached over and ruffled his hair.

With Sam asleep, the car seemed almost too quiet. Not wanting to have to start a conversation, John Winchester reached over and turned the volume up on the radio. Kansas' "Dust in the Wind" was playing. Even half asleep, Sam hummed along. Dean joined him, but quietly enough so their father didn't hear.

* * *

><p><em>So much fun to write! I hope you liked it. Love you all! Please review! Tell me what else you want to see, and I'll try to write it. <em>


	2. All Your Money Won't Another Minute Buy

Seven-year-old Sam's eyes were wide. He had to stand on his tiptoes to see into the plastic-encased refrigerated ice-cream bar situated in the counter at the rest stop/souvenir shop. His brother came over to him.

"Whatcha looking at, Sammy?"

"Dean! Look! They have Apple Pie Ice Cream!"

Dean had to laugh at his kid brother's enthusiasm. "That sounds amazing."

"Can we get some, Dean? Pleeeeaaase?" Sammy started doing "puppy-dog eyes" and Dean kind of melted.

"Ask Dad. You've got a better chance of getting him to agree than me."

Sam bounded over to where John was collecting some non-perishable foods. "Hey, Sam," he said distractedly. "What is it?"

"Daddy, can Dean and I have ice cream, please?" Sam pleaded.

John hesitated. "Small ones," he said finally. "And eat them quickly. I don't want you having to finish them in the Impala." Sam almost started jumping up and down with pleasure.

"Thankyouthankyouthankyou!" He ran back over to Dean. "We can have little ones," he panted.

Dean pulled a few slightly crumpled one-dollar bills from his pocket. He glanced at prices, and looked back at his money. His face fell slightly, but he didn't let Sam see. As Sam ran off to look at something else, Dean asked the lady behind the counter for one single scoop of apple-pie ice cream. Smiling, she handed him a double scoop without saying anything. It had an extra spoon in it.

"Thank you," Dean said, smiling back and handing her all of the money. It was two dollars short, but… "Thanks so much."

A minute later, the boys were sitting on the edge of the pavement outside the shop waiting for their father to finish buying whatever it was that he needed. The ice cream was really, really good. Dean let Sam eat two bites for each one he took, because the kid was very skinny. After they had finished, they spent a few minutes chasing each other around the nearly empty parking lot.

"Boys! It's time to go," John called to them.

Laughing and panting, the raced each other back to the Impala. They reached the car at exactly the same time, but Sam was in his seat first because Dean had to run all the way around to the far side. Dean didn't begrudge his little brother the victory, though. He couldn't give it freely, however. He had to keep up appearances.

"You've got ice cream on your face, Sammy."

"Where?"

Dean reached over and rubbed the tip of Sam's nose roughly. "Right here."

"Hey!" Sam protested, ducking away.

Dean didn't relent. "Also here," he added, poking Sam's chin. "And here." Right on his cheekbone. Sam squeaked and tried to wriggle away.

"Boys…" John said warningly as he sped up to get back onto the freeway.

Sighing, Dean stopped teasing his brother. "Okay."

Sam wasn't convinced that he didn't actually have some leftovers on his face and kept trying to find sticky spots. "Dean, I can't find any."

"Sammy, I was kidding. You're fine. There isn't any ice cream on your face."

"Oh."

* * *

><p><em>Yeah so they're adorable and I never want to stop writing them. I'm drawing huge inspiration from the trip I'm on right now, and the places I've gone in the past. Yes, apple pie ice cream does exist, and it's incredible, but I can't remember where I ate it, so sorry about that, I'd tell you if I did. But seriously, these first two stories stemmed from extreme boredom on a ten hour car ride and they wouldn't have happened without this for reading! I hope you liked it. <em>


	3. Now Don't Hang On

When Sam was nine years old, John took Dean on a hunt with him. They said it wasn't going to be dangerous at all, and instructed Sam not to leave the motel room. Two days later, they came back.

Sam gasped when he saw his brother. Dean's face and arms were covered in cuts. For a second, Sam sat frozen in the chair he had been reading in, just watching as John helped Dean over to one of the beds, where he collapsed. Then, Sam ran over to him. "What happened, Dean, are you okay?"

Dean nodded.

"He'll be fine," John said, not unkindly. "He's not hurt badly. Sam, I need you to take care of him for a minute while I go and get some supplies." Sam nodded, and John walked quickly back outside.

"Dean, talk to me, what happened?" Sam pressed.

Now that John was gone, Dean stopped keeping a brave face. "Sammy, it hurts," he said weakly. Sam responded by sitting down next to him and wrapping his arms around him. Dean actually started to cry. Sam hadn't seen him cry in…well, forever. That scared him.

"It's okay, Dean. You're safe now," Sam said. "Hold on, I'll be right back." Sam ran to the bathroom and got a clean washcloth and then got it wet. When he got back to his older brother, Dean had stopped crying but was still shaking. "Here," Sam said, starting to clean off the cuts on his face gently.

Dean flinched and tried to pull away.

"'m sorry, sorry," Sammy said, "I didn't mean to hurt you."

"It's okay. It's okay, you can keep going," Dean murmured. Sam did so, even more carefully this time. Dean closed his eyes.

"Please tell me what happened."

"Promise you won't freak out."

"Hey, of course I won't."

"Got tortured."

Sam had promised that he wouldn't freak out, so he didn't. His hands shaking with anger, he continued washing the cuts. He didn't say anything. Just then, John came rushing back into the motel room. "Here, Dean—" That was as far as he got. Sam whirled around and started shouting at him.

"How could you let this happen? How the hell did you let him get hurt like this?"

"Sam!" Dean cried. "It wasn't his fault."

Sam wouldn't listen. "How could you?!"

"You're too young to understand, Sam," John tried to say, but Sam exploded again.

"I'm only four years younger than Dean. I can't understand but he can go on these hunts with you and you let him be tortured?"

"Sam!" Dean tried again. "Sammy, it wasn't his fault!"

"Show me some respect, Sam," John shouted. "You don't think I did everything I could?"

"He shouldn't've been on the hunt in the first place! You shouldn't've let him get into a position where he might get hurt," Sam yelled back.

"HEY!" Dean said loudly. "Stop it, both of you."

They stopped arguing and turned to look at Dean guiltily. "Dad, could you maybe leave for a minute so I can explain what happened to Sam?"

John didn't want to leave, but he turned and walked out the door without another word. Sam turned to Dean.

"I don't need you to explain. I don't care exactly what happened. The fact is, you shouldn't have been on a hunt."

"Maybe you're right. Sammy. But yelling at Dad isn't going to fix anything. Please, Sammy, I need-" Dean's voice broke. "Please."

Sam tried to calm down. "Okay. I'm sorry, Dean."

"Did Dad leave the stuff he brought in?" Dean asked" changing the subject.

Sam glanced over. The bag of first aid supplies was sitting on the motel desk. "Yeah."

"I think I'd prefer you helping rather than Dad."

Sam tried not to feel too proud. He grabbed the bag. "Okay, what do I get out?" he said, suddenly realizing that he had no idea what he was doing.

"Bring it over here, Sammy," Dean instructed. Sam did. Dean ruffled through the bag. Wincing as the edges of the bag brushed against his cuts, he pulled out cotton balls and a bottle of clear liquid. "Here." He showed Sam how much of the liquid to put on each cotton ball. "I could do it myself, but I'd rather you helped 'cause it stings a lot."

Sam's hand hovered anxiously next to Dean's face, clutching the first cotton ball. "I don't want to hurt you, though."

"Don't worry, Sammy. You'll be gentler than Dad would, I'm sure," Dean replied calmly.

"Okay," Sam agreed nervously. As he touched the cotton ball to the first slash, Dean gasped slightly and winced, squeaking a little. "Sorry!"

"Quit apologizing." Dean grimaced. Sam kept going, Dean doing his very best to stifle any pained noises, but he couldn't stop a single tear leaking out of his eye. Sam caught it and wiped it away with his thumb.

"Hey, saltwater probably stings more than this stuff," he said sincerely.

Dean couldn't help laughing a little. "Yeah, you're right." Sam smiled. He was glad that even now, he could make his brother laugh.

It didn't take long to finish his face. "You good?" Sam checked. Dean nodded.

"It feels a little better now." Dean rolled up one sleeve. There were cuts covering his skin almost all the way to his shoulder. "Can you do the rest?"

"Oh, Dean!" Sam exclaimed as he saw the extent of the injuries.

"I'll be fine, Sammy."

"I know, I know. Still. I can't believe this happened. I should have been there." Sam started cleaning out the slash marks on his brother's arm.

"No, no, no, no, no," Dean protested. "You definitely should not have been there."

"But I might have been able to protect you," Sam replied innocently.

"No, trust me, Sammy. You couldn't have done anything to help. I wish you never ever have to go on a hunt. But Dad's gonna take you with us eventually. Please promise me now, Sammy, that you're never gonna blame yourself for something that to me on a hunt," Dean begged.

"Yeah, okay."

"I mean it, Sam.

"I promise. You too?"

Dean shook his head. "Nope. I'm not making a promise I can't keep. I'm the big brother, Sammy. It's my job to look after you, and if I can't, then I've failed at my job. That's my promise, Sam. As long as I'm around, nothing bad's gonna happen to you."

"I know."

That night, after John had come back into the room to say that they were leaving the next morning, Sam refused to even speak to him. They all went to bed. Sam pretended to fall asleep, but he didn't want to actually fall asleep.

"Dean?" came John's whisper. "Are you awake, son?"

"Yeah."

"Is Sam asleep?"

Sam felt the mattress move as Dean shifted to look at him. "I think so," Dean whispered back.

"I hope you managed to talk some sense into him, though I sincerely doubt it, from the way he was acting," their father remarked.

Dean was quiet for a second. "I don't think he's _really_ mad. He was just worried about me."

"Should he be?"

"I'm alright."

"Good. Goodnight, son."

"Goodnight, sir."

Half an hour later, Sam was still awake, but Dean and John were asleep. Sam wriggled deeper under the blankets. He felt so much safer when Dean was around, rather than when he was alone in a motel room for days at a time. He decided that he could fall asleep now.

He was awoken by a slight whimper from next to him. Sam sat up and looked over at his brother. Dean's eyes were moving wildly underneath his eyelids. _Nightmare_, Sam thought. Dean didn't have nightmares very often, at least not that Sam knew about, so he was a little worried.

"Hey," he whispered, making sure he wouldn't wake up their father. "Dean, wake up." He placed a hand on Dean's shoulder. "Dean." Sam shook him gently.

Dean gave a sharp intake of breath and sat up, trembling. "Sammy?"

"Shh," Sam hushed him. "It's okay, it was just a bad dream." He moved his hand to Dean's back and rubbed softly. "You're okay. You're safe."

Dean's shoulders shook. Sam pulled him into a hug as he started to cry for the second time that day. He buried his face in his little brother's shoulder, and Sam could feel how hard he was trying not to break down. "You can cry, Dean, it's okay," Sam whispered. "I won't tell anyone."

Dean let out a muffled sob. "I was so scared," he murmured into Sam's shirt. "I thought I was gonna die, Sammy, it hurt so much."

"I know, I know. You're okay now." Sam really didn't know what to do other than to hold him and keep making reassurances. He was only nine years old, and it wasn't like this happened every day. Seeing his older brother so broken was terribly hard. "I'm right here now. Nothing's gonna happen to you again."

"Sammy."

"Shh, shh." Sam let Dean keep crying for another minute or two. "Shh, you've gotta calm down soon, Dean. We've gotta get back to sleep."

After a couple more sobs, Dean took a shaky breath and lifted his head off Sammy's shoulder. Even in the dark, his green eyes were puffy and red from the tears. "I'm okay, I'm good now, Sammy, I think. Sorry."

"Sorry? For what?"

Dean shook his head. He flopped himself back onto his pillow, lying on his side, knees brought up slightly so he was halfway curled up with his back to Sam. "I dunno," he muttered. "Waking you up, I guess."

"It's not a big deal," Sam replied, confused. He lay back down, too, mirroring Dean. "Can you go back to sleep now?"

"Yeah…I think so. Will you wake me again, if…" Dean didn't say any more.

"Mm-hmm…Of course." Sam was already drifting off again.

"Thanks." Dean's breathing evened out soon, and both of them fell back asleep. Dean didn't have any more nightmares, and the next morning, neither of them mentioned the one he did have. And if Dean was a little quieter than usual, and Sam a little more protective than usual, well, it was just their ways of hanging on.

* * *

><p><em>Well that was different. Much longer, too. I can't say it was easy to write, but I can't say I didn't like writing it, either. It's interesting to imagine the boys before they've had all of the experiences they have in their difficult existence. I hope you enjoyed reading it! I'd love it if you dropped a review, tell me what you think of it all, or suggest later chapters of this story. I'm totally open to suggestions! Love you all. <em>


	4. A Curiosity

The Impala sat parked outside of a convenience store. Sam and Dean, ages eight and twelve, waited in the car for John to come back out with what they had needed.

_Poor Dean_, Sammy thought. _Those stupid mosquitoes, why did they all want to bite _him_? _Dean, meanwhile, scratched miserably at the red, swelling lumps covering his arms and face.

"The Garden State. Should have been named the Mosquito State," Dean grumbled. He yelped slightly as one of his fingernails dug deep enough into one bite to draw blood. It trickled slowly down his arm.

"Dean, Dad said not to scratch," Sam reminded.

"But it itches!" Dean wailed.

Sam sighed. "I know." Dean started to scratch again involuntarily. "Dean!" Sam reprimanded.

"I can't help it!"

"You're making yourself bleed! Stop it!" Sam scolded, reaching over and grabbing both of Dean's hands in his own, much smaller ones.

"Sammy, let go!" Dean said.

"Nuh-uh. Dad's getting the stuff to make it stop itching, and scratching will only make it worse," the younger boy informed.

Dean stuck out his bottom lip, pouting slightly as he stopped pulling away from Sam's grip. "That doesn't make sense," he complained.

"Yeah it does, cos scratching spreads the mosquito spit, and that's what you're allergic to so that's what itches," Sam said matter-of-factly.

"Spit?" Dean said incredulously.

Sam nodded.

Dean squirmed uncomfortably, and tried to pull his hands away from Sam's grasp again to start scratching, but Sam stopped him. "No, you're not allowed to. I said so and so did Dad."

Dean went limp, sighing miserably. "This sucks."

"So did the mosquitoes," Sam teased, unable to stop himself. "All your blood, sucked up to make mosquito eggs."

"Eeeew," Dean moaned. "Sammy, it's not funny!"

Sam giggled. "Yeah, it is. So is you not knowing that the spit is what itches."

"How would I know that?" Dean protested.

"I did."

"Well, you're a geek."

"I learned it in science class!"

"Yeah. Like I said. Geek."

"It was interesting!"

"Only you would be curious about why mosquito bites itch," Dean rebuked.

"Well, at least I know better than to scratch at them," Sam replied. "Seriously, Dean, if you keep scratching, you could make yourself bleed really bad."

"But I can't even think about anything else," Dean whined. "Sammy…"

"Dad should be back with the anti-itch stuff really soon," Sam comforted. At that very moment, John came striding out of the store. He handed Dean the tube of the anti-itch cream through the window of the car.

"Thanks, Dad," Dean said gratefully.

"Will you be good with putting it on while we're going?" John checked.

"I'll help," Sammy put forth.

John smiled at him. "Thank you, Sam, that's great." He stepped forwards and got into the driver's seat. The beautifully familiar sound of the Impala's engine started purring out, and they pulled out of the parking lot, out through the streets of the small town, and back onto the highway.

Dean handed Sam the bottle once they were on a smoother road. "Careful," he said. Sam opened it and put a dot of the white cream on the tip of his finger, and Dean closed his eyes as his little brother reached over to smear it onto the red lump on his nose. Sam counted how many bites Dean had as he applied the anti-itch stuff.

"Three, four, five…six, seven…eight, just on your face! Wow," Sam said, impressed. "That's a whole lot."

Dean didn't care. His face had stopped itching. That was awesome. "Here, Sammy, give me the tube. I can do my own arms."

"Okay," Sam affirmed, handing back the cream.

Dean sighed in relief as he finished covering basically all of both his forearms. The merciful cease of the tormenting itch was fading. He was about to put the cap back on when Sam reached out tentatively. "Can I have it now, Dean?"

"Why?"

"I've got a couple bites, too," Sam admitted. He pulled up the sleeve of his plaid shirt, showing the four lumps decorating just below and around his elbow, and turned his head so Dean could see the two on the right side of his face.

Dean frowned, concerned. "How come you weren't, like, scratching at them?"

"Cos I'm smarter than you," Sam teased. Then his face grew serious again. "But it still itches and please can I have it?"

"Of course, Sammy." But instead of handing Sam the bottle, he just put some on his own fingers. "Turn your head," he instructed. Sam twisted around in his seat so his right side was angled towards Dean. Dean dabbed some onto the bites on his face and had Sam turn again so he could do his arm.

"Thanks, Dean."

Dean put the cap back on now and slid the bottle into the small cardstock box it had come in. "No problem, little bro. Dad, where should I put this?"

"Hang on to it for now," John called back from the front. "We can put it in the med-kit in the trunk next time we stop."

"Cool."

Hopefully, it would be a while until they had to go back to New Jersey…God, the mosquitos there were _awful_.

* * *

><p><em>It's been a while since my last update, sorry to those actually following this story. It would probably go a bit faster if I had some prompts..hint hint. No but seriously, I'd really appreciate suggestions and reviews. I was all out of good ideas and then I got a mosquito bite and yuck but this popped out of nowhere so it was worth it, I guess. I have maybe one more idea, which involves a roller coaster, a field trip, and a very freaked out Dean (who doesn't like heights). What do you think? Also, again, any suggestions! Love you all. <em>


	5. All My Dreams

Sam's third grade class was going on a field trip, and Dean had gotten special permission from his own teachers to go with them. Sam was thrilled about this; he had never been to an amusement park just to have fun before, and he was delighted that he would have his brother with him.

Dean, meanwhile, was definitely regretting this decision.

Why? Because Sam had immediately pulled him over to ride the highest, scariest roller coaster in the whole park. Dean didn't like heights, not at all. He didn't like flying in airplanes. He didn't like cliff or canyon edges. And he didn't like roller coasters.

But Sammy had asked him to come with him, and Dean couldn't say no, not when his little brother looked happier than he had in months.

Standing in the twenty minute line was really boring, Sam reflected. Why couldn't it be shorter? He shifted his feet slightly, and the line moved forwards very, very slowly. There were tons of people standing in the queue with them. It seemed like everyone in the park wanted to go on this roller coaster. They got to move forwards again, and Sam smiled up at his big brother. Dean managed to smile back. He wasn't going to let Sammy know he was nervous, oh, no.

When it was finally their turn to get into a car, the brothers found themselves at the very front. Dean couldn't remember; was the front the smoothest or the roughest seat to sit in?

They put the 'seat belts' on. It was just over their laps. What if they fell out? Dean did his best not to show that he was panicking slightly. One of the workers came over to make sure their seat belts were on tightly, and then lowered the metal bars that served as an extra safety measure. Dean felt a little better as he gripped the bar tightly.

Sam was bouncing with excitement as they started going…up…up…up. How long was this going to take? The people behind them were already whooping with excitement. _Why the hell do people_ _pay to scream their heads off?_ Dean thought. And then he was falling and he was screaming, too. He squeezed his eyes as tightly shut as he could, but he could still feel himself falling and twisting to both sides. Next to him, Sam sounded like he was having the time of his life, but Dean still didn't like hearing him scream, no matter the reason.

Over the roar of the wind in his face, Dean heard Sam say something. "Open your eyes, Dean!" Dean cracked one eye open, and shut it immediately as he caught a glimpse of the world tilting at an alarming angle, speeding upwards. A small hand grasped his, and he clung to it for dear life.

After what seemed like _eternity_, the ride slowed down and came to a stop. Shaking, Dean clambered out of the roller coaster car. He wasn't sure if he was going to throw up or cry. Either one would be incredibly humiliating.

Sam followed his older brother, who walked unsteadily over to a nearby bench and collapsed. Sam sat down next to him. "Sorry, Dean," he said guiltily.

"Mm," Dean muttered in response. "Hey, kiddo?"

"Yeah?"

"Never, ever, are you convincing me to go on a roller coaster again."

"Okay."

* * *

><p><em>Can you tell I don't really like roller coasters? Actually, they terrify me. I took a bit of creative license with Dean not liking them, but...I thought it was a fun thing to write. Hey, guys, I need some help. I need suggestions for more chapters: I'm totally out of ideas, so any prompts would be awesome. (Humor, hurtcomfort, pure fluff...whatever you want except no romance or slash of any kind please. Oh! and no total John-hate.) Time range, any time before Sammy leaves for Stanford. Thanks! I love you all. _


	6. Only For A Moment

After a nerve-wracking hunt for a werewolf in Moab, Utah, during which John had broken his ankle, thirteen-year-old Sammy asked if he and Dean could go explore Arches National Park. Reluctantly, John agreed. He wouldn't be able to leave for another day anyway, and he didn't want to boys to be cooped up in a motel room for any longer. He knew they would get restless and loud very quickly, and didn't want to have to deal with their arguing. Also, they deserved something like this for taking over the hunt after he had gone down, and Dean had dealt with the creature very well.

Dean drove the Impala along the desert road for the short distance from the town to the park. Sam, even though he got to sit shotgun (which never happened when John was driving because that was Dean's seat then), was very quiet.

Dean glanced over at him. "Hey, kiddo, what's up?" he asked casually.

"Nothing."

"Now, don't give me that," Dean warned. "Tell me."

Sammy stayed quiet for another minute. "You killed her," he said finally.

"Who?" Dean started, confused, then he realized what Sam meant. "Oh. The werewolf girl. Yeah, you're right. I did. She was a monster, Sammy, that's what we do."

"Yeah, but…I mean, she didn't ask to be bitten. It wasn't her fault, you know? And she still had to die for it, I mean…she was a person once. She probably had a family. We don't even know what her name was," Sam added.

Dean looked uncomfortable. "Look, Sammy, I know. I wish we didn't have to kill her, either. You're right, it's not really her fault. But we could not have saved her. You know that, right?"

"Yeah, I know," the younger Winchester muttered.

"And by getting rid of her, we probably saved a whole bunch of people's lives."

"I know. But we couldn't save the two people she already killed in Moab, either," Sam pointed out. "That's three lives."

"Three lives," agreed Dean. "Which is a lot less than might have been lost if we had gotten here a week later."

"Yeah," Sam acknowledged, and didn't say anything else. The rest of the car ride passed in silence.

… … … … …

In the late afternoon-turning-evening sunlight, Sam and Dean had found a low bench by the side of the trail to sit on. They were both quiet. The park was even more beautiful than they had imagined, and they wished they had more time to spend there. Both knew that if their father didn't keep pressing them onwards, they could be travelling just for the sake of travelling and not to kill more monsters.

The world was full of beautiful places, and the Winchester boys had been to every state in the US at least once or twice. But oftentimes, it seemed as if they never _saw_ anything. They'd been to California dozens of times, and had never been to Disneyland or Yosemite. They'd visited Wyoming several times, too, and had never been inside Yellowstone. They'd never been in the museums in Washington DC, or explored New York City or Seattle.

But just for this moment, all the beauty of the world seemed compacted in the dying light and rusty sandstone landscape around them. Off in the distance, a tall spire of rock darker in hue than the stone around it rose up until it seemed to touch the sky. Dean broke the silence, pointing at it. "What do you think that's called, Sammy?" asked the older boy.

Sam pulled the fold-up map out of his pocket. Examining it, he said "I think it's called Dark Angel."

Dean frowned. He gazed at the towering formation, trying to understand. "Why d'you suppose they call it that?"

"I don't know," Sam responded, exasperated. "Do I look like a park ranger?"

Dean glanced at him. Sam was wearing light blue jeans, a red plaid shirt, and a full-brimmed hat. "Yes." Sam rolled his eyes. "It doesn't look like an angel, though. I don't get it."

"How do we know it doesn't look like an angel? We've never seen one," Sam pointed out.

"And we aren't likely too," Dean added.

Sam shrugged. "Maybe not. But so much else is real. Why not angels?"

"Come on, Sammy. When have we ever come across something supernatural that isn't trying to kill us? That's good?" Dean pressed. "Why do you think that trend will ever start?"

Shaking his head, Sammy shrugged again. "I dunno," he muttered, and wouldn't say anymore until the sun was setting and Dean remarked that they'd have to leave soon if they wanted to get back to the motel before dark. So they left. The next day, they drove away from Moab and haven't returned since.

* * *

><p><em>Thanks for reading! This chapter was inspired by my trip to Arches several years ago, a conversation in the episode Houses of the Holy, and a suggestion by ArcticHuntress (which I didn't totally follow the idea of, I know, sorry about that, but I hope this was okay). I'd love some more suggestions from any of you reading! I know you're out there and that you're very creative. Anywhere you want the boys to go, to talk about? Like I said before, I'll write fluff like chapters 1, 2, 4, and 5, hurtcomfort like chapter 3, or something slightly darker like this one. Or basically anything that isn't romance or John-bashing and takes place before Sammy goes to Stanford. Love you all! _


	7. Endless Sea

_Plop. Splish. _The young boy threw another piece of glass into the ocean waves. The sign on the cliff face behind him pronounced the small bay as "Glass Beach, Mendocino County". The boy was only three or four years old, and he was gathering up every fragrant of the beach glass he could find.

His brother, who had been standing several yards away just watching the ocean, noticed what he was doing. He walked over. "Hey, Sammy, whatcha doing?" he asked, confused.

"Gotta put them back, Dean, they're not ready yet," Sammy muttered in explanation.

Dean frowned. "Huh?"

Sam held up a smooth, round piece of green glass. "It's still glass," he said. "It needs to go back in the sea."

"What else would it be, buddy?" Dean knelt down next to him. He scooped up a handful of glass and sand and pebbles.

"It's not supposed to come out of the sea 'til it's sand," Sammy said matter-of-factly.

Dean's nose crinkled in puzzled confusion, then smiled. "Glass doesn't turn into sand, Sammy. It's the other way around."

"No, it's not," Sammy argued stubbornly.

"Yes, it really is," Dean continued patiently. "Sand is melted into glass."

"Oh. But how do the fishes melt it?" Sammy inquired innocently.

Dean laughed. "No, Sammy, fishes don't make glass, people do. Then the glass is made into bottles which sometimes get thrown into the ocean and smashed and smoothed by the saltwater and then it washes up here."

For a second, all that could be heard was the quiet lapping and tumbling of the ocean on the rocks as Sammy tried to puzzle that out. "Why?" Sammy asked finally.

Dean poked his side. "Cuz."

Sam giggled. "Tha's not an answer."

"I think it is."

"But it's not! I wanna know," he persisted.

Dean pulled his little brother into his lap. "Well, maybe I don't know," he told him.

Sam looked up at him adoringly. "Course you do, you know everyfing."

Dean sighed. "Yeah, course I do, Sammy. I was just messing with you. The glass comes here because, um, they're friends with the pebbles."

"Okay," Sammy said, satisfied.

Dean breathed a sigh of relief. He actually had no idea, of course, but he couldn't let his little brother know that. In Sammy's eyes, Dean still was the perfect, idealized older brother. "Do you still want to put them back in the sea?"

Sam thought for a second. "Not unless we let the pebbles go, too. I don't wanna separate them if they're friends."

"We could throw them both."

"All of them?" Sam said in dismay, looking around at the vast expanse of rocks and glass.

"That would be like trying to empty the sea drop by drop! No, not all of them. Just some of them," Dean elaborated.

"Okay then," Sam said seriously. He took a handful of glass and a handful of pebbles. He couldn't hold very much; maybe four or five pieces in each hand. He tossed both handfuls into the sea at the same time.

Dean stood up, lifting Sammy to his feet with him. He hadn't let go of the handful he had scooped up earlier, and he, too, let the stones and sea glass return to the water.

"Back where you belong, silly glass," the little boy called. Dean laughed at how serious he seemed.

"Yeah, back to the ocean," he added, feeling surprisingly excited at this small game. His next handful of rock and glass made a satisfying _plonk. _Sam grinned ear to ear, his eyes sparkling as he looked up at Dean.

The waves were lapping closer as the tide came in. Sam squeaked as a wave brushed the tips of his tennis shoes. Then his face fell. "Dean!"

"Yeah, I know, bud, the tide's coming in, huh? We're probably going to have to go soon, sorry. Dad did tell us we could only stay out here until the tide got too high and then to go back to the motel," Dean apologized.

"No, the waves are gonna bring back all the glass and rocks we threw!" Sammy was pouting and there were tears in his big brown eyes.

"Oh, is that it?" Dean said, realizing. "Well, Sammy, let me tell you. Those rocks and and those bits of glass are long gone. They were so happy to be back in the ocean that they're never going to come back to the beach again."

"Really?" Sam asked. He hated to think that that all of their "work" would be undone by the turning of the tide.

"Absolutely," Dean promised. "They found a sea otter family, living in the kelp forest right...out..." He pointed. "There."

Sammy nodded, eyes wide and interested. "Then what?"

Dean held out his hand. "Come on, let's go back to the motel, I'll tell you the rest while we wait for Dad to come back."

Sammy took his brother's hand and together they climbed up the winding path up the cliff back along the road until they found the motel they were staying at. Dean got Sammy's wet shoes and socks off and made him put his pajamas on. After that, the little boy sat in the chair in the corner that was far too big for him while Dean lay on his stomach on the bed near the chair, telling his story of the sea otter family that adopted the rocks and glass in wild detail. Sam got really into the story, and Dean just kept going, making up new characters and divulging into ridiculous situations that the four-year-old didn't think to question and had nothing to do with the original plot.

Eventually, the sun began to set, and Sam began to yawn. Dean noticed immediately, of course. "Okay, Sammy, time for bed," he said, interrupting his own tale of a sword-fighting whale battling a giant squid.

"Not tired."

"Of course you're not," Dean said, swinging his feet off the bed and walking over to Sam. As he picked his little brother up off the chair, Sam's arms went automatically around Dean's neck. Dean carried him over to the bed further from the door and set him down on the far side. "Go to sleep, kiddo."

Sam reluctantly crawled under the covers. "Dean," he said sleepily.

Dean sat on the edge of the bed, making Sam shift over a little so he wouldn't be sitting on top of him. "Yeah? What is it, Sammy?" He tugged the sheet up to Sam's chin.

Sam closed his eyes. "You said the water made the glass smooth. If I put broken glass into a water bottle would it get smooth?"

"No, I think it has to be moving water."

"What if I shook it?"

"I think it has to be salty, too, bud."

"Well…" Sam opened his eyes again. "What if I cried onto it?"

Dean winced. "I hope you never cry enough to smooth a piece of glass, Sammy."

"Someone had to, or where'd the seawater come from?" the little boy questioned, wonderingly.

"Must've been a giant."

"Tell me that story, Dean," Sam requested.

Dean smiled. "Maybe tomorrow. Go to sleep."

Sam was already almost asleep. "Okay…" he murmured. "'Night."

"Goodnight, Sammy. Good dreams." Dean sat next to him for another couple of minutes, until he was sure the kid was actually asleep. Then he slid off the bed carefully and walked over to the window. He wondered when their father would be back. Probably not tonight. Or tomorrow morning. Maybe they could check the tides and he could take Sammy back to the beach tomorrow. They had been so involved in throwing the glass back into the ocean that they had forgotten to bring some back with them to put in a jar to keep as a memory. Otherwise, it might be lost forever.

* * *

><p><em>Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed it. I really need your help, though! I know there's some people reading this story, but only one person has actually given me a suggestion! Is there anywhere you want me to take the boys? Anything you want to have me write happening to them, anything you want them to talk about? I'm seriously out of ideas, folks. "I need you." Anyway, thanks for reading and reviewing (please?). Love you all. <em>


	8. It Slips Away

The dancing flames worked their way into the crevices of the ancient skeleton. A burning scent filled the night air, and the whisper of the fire followed Sam Winchester as he turned and stumbled away, unable to watch what he had done any longer. _It was a ghost, it was already dead, it's not like you killed it._ That was what Dean would say, but Dean using logic to comfort the logical brother didn't feel very sincere.

Sam walked across the graveyard towards the little pull-out on the side of the road where the Impala was parked. He went around to the other side of the old car and sat down, leaning against it. Away from the heat of the flames, the night was cold. The stars were out and there was a perfect half moon floating in the sky, partially hidden behind some clouds.

Sam shifted uncomfortably, pushing himself into a better position and wincing as the sharp gravel dug into his palms. He shivered and heard the footsteps of someone coming up behind him.

"Hey," Dean said, coming around to the side of the car where Sam sat. "You okay?"

Sam gave a noncommittal mutter, refusing to look at Dean.

Dean sighed. "Look, dude. It's never easy to kill something, especially for the first time, but it was a ghost. It was already dead, Sammy, you didn't really kill it."

_Almost word for word what I thought he'd say_, Sam thought to himself. Out loud, he said, "I know. I'm fine, Dean, don't worry about me."

"If you're fine, why are you sitting all the way over here?" Dean countered, sitting down a few feet away from his little brother.

"I just needed to think."

Dean pretended to gasp in horror. "Well, we can't have that! Don't hurt yourself, Sammy, leave the thinking to Dad."

"Shut up," Sam muttered, but a hint of amusement played into his tone, and he couldn't stop a smile from spreading halfway across his face. He turned his face away from Dean, but not before his older brother had seen the smile.

"There, that's better." Dean reached over and shoved him gently. Sam sighed loudly. "Seriously, Sammy," Dean continued. "You know that you didn't really kill it, right? We just let it move on."

"Right. Actually. No. What does that even mean? 'Moving on?' Like, what the hell does that even mean?" Sam blurted out.

Dean shrugged. "No idea," he said unhelpfully. "All we know is that the spirit was stuck here, and now it's not. Which is better for everyone. Nobody else gets killed, and the spirit is where it belongs. Even if we don't know exactly where that is, it doesn't matter, because we don't need to know."

"Uh-huh," Sam replied, unconvinced.

"Hey, listen. We're not supposed to know what happens after death. Nobody does, right?"

Sam surprised himself by saying, quite vehemently, "Nobody knows that monsters and ghosts are real either, and we do! Maybe we should know that, too."

"Is that really what you think, Sammy?" Dean said, quietly. "Are we that entitled? Are we that different than everyone else?"

"We _save_ them! Every single day! And they don't know anything about _anything_ and I'm sick of fighting all the time and I'm sick of moving around and I'm sick of hurting things and I don't want to kill anything anymore!" Sam continued, hating himself for saying all this out loud but unable to stop. "I don't want to hunt anymore, Dean, and I don't want to die before thirty like all hunters do and I want to go to school like a normal kid, and I don't want to be the freak anymore, and I don't want to be able to beat up a kid twice my size because of all of Dad's training and I want to have a home!"

"And with every hunt, every time we kill something, every time we move schools or towns or states, you can feel that chance of a normal life, that life you see every other kid having, you can see it slip away and you can't hold onto your hope any longer," Dean finished for him, quietly.

Sam let out a sob, burying his face in his crossed arms resting on his knees, cursing himself for being such a baby. He was _fifteen_, for goodness sake.

"That's what this is about, huh?" pressed Dean.

"Mm." Sam didn't say anything else.

"Believe me, I wish I didn't have to say this. But, Sammy, this is our life. Now, it ain't fair and it ain't good, but there's nothing we can do about it 'cept realize that and keep going," Dean told him bluntly. "And I'd give just about anything to change that for you, but I can't."

Sam didn't know how to respond to that. "I'm sorry," he said finally.

"What? No, don't be sorry. _I'm_ the one who's supposed to be sorry," Dean reprimanded. "And next time we have a hunt, I promise you won't have to do the killing, no matter what."

"I don't need-" Sam tried to protest, but Dean interrupted.

"Yeah, you do. Now shut up, bitch."

"Jerk."

* * *

><p><em>That took a while to write! Sorry, I've been super busy. I hope you like this newest addition; the idea came from ArcticHuntress again, who suggested I write "the first time their dad took both Sam and Dean on a hunting trip". I changed it just a little to fit what I needed the title to be. I'd love it if you dropped a review or suggestion! I think I've figured out there will be 8 or 9 more chapters. The titles are: <em>_Pass Before My Eyes, __Same Old Song, __Just a Drop of Water, __Crumbles to the Ground, __We Refuse to See, __Nothing Lasts Forever, __Earth and Sky, and All We Are is Dust in the Wind OR I might split that one into All We Are and Dust in the Wind. So if you have any ideas of what one or more of these chapters could be about, please let me know! Thanks for reading! Love you all! _


	9. Crumbles to the Ground

A six-year old boy wandered through the street. His lower lip trembled; his face held an expression of terror and pure loneliness. The few people left outside took no notice of him.

It was getting colder. The boy was starting to shiver. Then he sneezed, twice, rapidly. His throat was starting to hurt. The sunlight was fading, and soon he could barely see where he was going. He kept walking, though, until he tripped over a crack in the sidewalk and crumpled to the ground. That was the last straw. Cradling the raw, bleeding palms of his hands while also trying to clutch at his skinned knees, he began to cry softly. He rocked back and forth on the curb of cement, sniffling, tears dripping down his face. He wished his brother would come and find him.

Meanwhile, the boy's brother was searching for him desperately. Nearly in tears himself, the ten-year old boy stumbled hurriedly along the streets of the small town.

"Sammy!" he cried, over and over again. "Where are you, Sammy? Sammy, answer me!" But there was no reply.

Then he saw a small, dark lump on the edge of the sidewalk. He could barely make it out in the darkness, so he ran right up to it. He realized that it was, indeed, his little brother, who had somehow fallen asleep. In the half-light that comes just after sunset, the tear tracks lining little Sammy's cheeks almost shimmered.

The older boy scooped Sammy up into his lap carefully. Sam squirmed a little, but didn't wake up. "Sammy?"

"Dean…" came a soft, sleep-filled whisper. Sam didn't fully wake up, and just pressed himself closer to his brother. Dean frowned. Something was wrong. He felt Sam's forehead; it was burning up.

"Darn it, Sammy," Dean murmured. "Come on, let's get you back to the motel. Dad'll be back tomorrow or the next day, and I don't want you to be sick then." He stood up slowly, holding the limp Sam in his arms. It was only a couple blocks to the motel, and he whispered to Sammy all the way there. "How'd you manage to get yourself lost, hmm, Sammy? That's what I wanna know. You scared me. I didn't know where you were. I'm not mad, though, I promise. And I won't tell Dad. Okay? Just don't get lost again. If you did, though, I'd find you. I'll always find you. Look, here, we're at the motel." Even though he knew Sam was asleep and wasn't hearing him, Dean kept talking as he managed to unlock the door with one hand while holding Sammy with the other. "Gotcha, Sammy. C'mon, in we go. Bed's more comfy than concrete, huh?" He laid his brother down onto the bed furthest from the door, going back to close and lock it quickly.

Sam's hand was opening and curling up again rhythmically. Dean grasped it with one of his own hands and felt Sammy's forehead again with the other. The kid was even warmer now. Dean walked over to the sink, flicking on the lights as he did so, and took a clean washcloth from the stack next to the basin. He ran it under cool water for a moment, then went back over to the bed.

It was only then that he saw the raw skin and dried blood crusting Sammy's knees and palms. "Oh, Sammy!" Dean exclaimed. Then he sighed. "Temperature first." He placed the damp cloth on the kid's head, then washed away the tear tracks as if in afterthought. Sammy muttered something inaudible and leaned his head into the cool cloth. Leaving the cloth lying across Sam's forehead, Dean managed to get the kid into his pajamas. He reached for the cloth again, only to find it nearly dry. After taking it back to the sink to get it wet again, he returned to find Sam awake and trying to sit up.

"D-d-d-dean," Sam said, shivering. "You f-f-found me."

"Hey, 'course I did, kiddo," Dean said soothingly, making Sam lie down again. He cleaned off the scrapes on the little boy's knees and hands, shushing him gently when he whined that it stung. Knowing Sam's aversion to Band-aids (he claimed that the sticky part never wanted to let go), Dean just made sure that the raw skin was clean. After he had finished, Sam was trembling slightly. "You cold?" Dean checked.

"Mm-hmm," Sam managed. Dean reached for him and Sam put his arms around his neck. Dean lifted him up for a moment to pull back the covers before putting him back down and pulling the covers up to his chin. The little boy coughed weakly. Dean rushed over to the sink again to get him a glass of water.

"Dean!" Sam cried weakly. Dean was back at his side in an instant.

"Right here, Sammy," he reassured. "Here, drink."

Sam sipped at the water carefully. "I fot you'd got lost," he murmured, his voice slipping into that of a younger child.

"Nope, not gonna get lost. Not gonna lose you." Dean sat on the edge of the bed. He took the glass back after Sam had finished and put it on the nightstand. He placed his hand on Sam's forehead once more. His temperature had gone down slightly, that was good. Sam leaned into his touch, his eyes, which were still bright and glassy from the fever, closing slowly. "Not gonna let you get lost again, Sammy, and even if you do, I'll always come find you."

"But I was scared you weren't gonna," Sam whispered, nearly asleep.

"Don't ever be scared about that again, 'kay, Sammy? I'll always find you."

"What if…"

"Shh. Go to sleep. I'm right here. Go to sleep."

"...okay. Ni'ni."

Dean smiled slightly. "Goodnight, Sammy. I'll be right back, I promise, I'm just going to go turn out the light." There was still a nightlight plugged into the wall, guiding Dean back to the bedside. He tapped the tip of Sam's nose gently. "Back," he whispered. "I'm gonna get my PJ's on and then I'm going to sleep, too, 'kay, Sammy?"

"'kay…" Sam probably wasn't even aware of what he was replying to. But that was okay. He needed to sleep. And so did Dean; after crawling into bed next to his little brother, he was asleep within minutes. And when he woke up in the middle of the night with the heat-seeking Sammy halfway on top of him, he just sighed, shoved the little kid mostly off, and fell back asleep with his arm wrapped around him. "Definitely not gonna lose you this way," he whispered fondly.

* * *

><p><em>Tada! This happened at eleven o'clock at night. What're your thoughts? Was it good? Okay? Terrible? Amazing? I love hearing from you! Also, prompts for the title "Pass Before My Eyes" would be extremely welcome. Love you! <em>


	10. Same Old Song

_This story is a follow-up to the chapter "Crumbles to the Ground", and takes place the morning after that one ended. _

* * *

><p>"Dean!" came an urgent whisper. Dean woke immediately.<p>

"Whasit, Sammy?" He squinted upwards. The sun was barely peeking into the motel room from the windows with their curtains drawn.

"I don't feel good," Sam whimpered.

Dean sat up quickly. Sam was perched on the bed next to him. The six-year-old looked pale and sick. "What's wrong, Sammy? Talk to me."

"My head hurts and my throat hurts and my tummy hurts," Sam listed. "I'm cold but my forehead feels hot."

Dean reached over to press his the back of his hand to Sam's forehead like he had done the night before. "You've still got a fever," he said matter-of-factly. "You feel worse, though, Sammy?"

He nodded at his big brother miserably. "Feel like 'm gonna throw up," he admitted.

Dean groaned. "Go over to the bathroom, I guess. I'll be there in a minute."

"'kay," Sam agreed readily and stumbled over to the tiny bathroom connected to their room. As Dean climbed out of bed tiredly, he heard a retching noise, and hurried the rest of the way over. Sam was just flushing the toilet when Dean came in. The little boy was clutching at his ribs and looked up at Dean miserably.

The ten-year-old sighed and knelt down on the floor next to him. "Feeling a little better?" he asked hopefully.

Sam shook his head slightly before starting to gag again, coughing and heaving, but there was nothing left in his stomach. He started whimpering, and Dean realized that he couldn't find time to breathe. He began rubbing his little brother's back gently, trying to calm him down. "C'mon, Sammy, c'mon, bud. It's okay, just breathe." After a little while, Sam regained his breath shakily. Dean grabbed one of the paper cups sitting next to the sink and filled it with water. "Rinse," he ordered, handing it to Sam.

Sam did so. "Feel a little better," he whispered weakly. Dean was getting out a washcloth and soaking it.

"Here," he said. He placed it on the back of Sam's neck. Sam let out a whine and tried to push it away.

"Cold!" he protested loudly. Then he started coughing, and moaned as that jarred his already sore stomach muscles. "Owwwwww..." he said when he had stopped coughing. "It hurts."

"I know, Sammy, I know. Can we go back into the other room now?" Dean asked.

"Think so. Yeah." Dean helped him stand up, and walked with him over to the bed. Sam climbed up and flopped onto his back with a long-suffering sigh. "Deeeaan…" he said.

"Whaddya need?"

"Water please.

"Yep," Dean replied, and got him a glass of water. Sam sat up to drink it, and then started coughing again, and then sneezed several times in a row. Dean had to grab the cup out of his hands, or else he would have dropped it in his effort to cover his nose and mouth. Sam's slight frame shook with every cough. When the coughing finally subsided, he looked up and his eyes were filled with unshed tears. Dean realized that the kid was really miserable.

Aside from being glazed with tears, his big brown eyes were glassy with fever. "I'm going to get you your Tylenol for your fever," Dean said gently. "But first, do you think you could eat a piece of bread, buddy?"

"Maybe half of one," Sam murmured. "I'm not feeling like I'm gonna throw up again, if that's what you mean."

"Okay, good, because taking Tylenol on a totally empty stomach _might_ make you throw up again, and we don't want that." Dean got a piece of bread and a napkin off the counter next to the stove and brought it over to Sam, who nibbled at the edge of the crust tentatively. Then he started eating it more quickly, as if just realizing that he was hungry. "Slowly," Dean reminded.

Sam finished a little over half of the bread, and then handed it back to Dean with the napkin. "That's 'nough."

"What'm I supposed to do with this, hey?" Dean said, mock-seriously, holding the bread by the napkin gingerly, pretending to be afraid of catching Sam's germs left on where he had bitten it. Sam giggled a little, and Dean smiled back, glad that his little brother was feeling that well, at least. He placed the bread on the counter for later and got out the bottle of Children's Tylenol. He poured the correct amount into the cap/cup that conveniently came with the bottle.

Sam made a face at the sight of the purple, sticky medicine, but he swallowed it without complaint. Dean gave him his glass of water again to wash out the overly sweet, purple flavor. (Both of them agreed that while the bottle said "Grape Flavored" it really tasted like pure purple. They knew that purple was a color and not a taste, but if purple did have a taste...it would taste like Grape Flavored Children's Tylenol.)

Then he started coughing again, and he couldn't stop for at least two minutes. His eyes were filled with tears again by the time he had caught his breath, and this time they started to fall. Dean hopped right up on the bed next to him and wrapped him in his arms. "No cry, Sammy, no cry," he murmured, in the same way that he had when Sam had been much younger. "You'll feel better soon, I promise. Go to sleep, okay? Just go to sleep."

Sammy buried his face in Dean's side, trying not to let out a sob. Dean pulled him completely into his lap. "Go to sleep. Shh."

"I...I want…" Sam managed between sobs.

"What is it, Sammy?"

"I don't know!" Sam admitted brokenly. "I don't know what it is."

And that's when Dean's heart broke. Because he knew what Sammy wanted; exactly what he would want if he felt this miserable-something neither of them could have. Their mother. And Dean could try, but he would never be that. He held Sam tighter. "I know, I know, I'm so sorry, Sammy. Shh, go to sleep. You'll feel better when you wake up."

Sam kept crying. "Shhh…" Dean whispered, and started to sing quietly. "Hey, Jude, don't make it bad, take a sad song and make it better…" Their mom had sung that to both of them when she was still alive, and though Dean knew that Sammy wouldn't remember it, he did. Sam was starting to quiet down now, and his sobs were ceasing. "Remember, to let her into your heart, then you can start to make it better…"

* * *

><p><em>Thank you for reading; I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I hope I didn't break your heart with the ending...I know you've probably read a fic with "Hey Jude" in it before, so it probably didn't come as a shock. But I may have broken mine a little. Your reviews and feedback and thoughts might help mend it a little, though! Seriously, it makes my day a heck of a lot better to get a review. I love you! DFTBA! ~Clare<em>


	11. Then The Moment's Gone

Dean tapped his foot impatiently. He leaned against the tree where he was waiting for Sam to show up so they could walk back to the apartment they'd been renting for a month now. The kid's school had gotten out ten minutes ago, where was he? This was the last thing he needed.

With a frustrated sigh, Dean started heading over to where he knew Sam's last class was located. He was rounding a corner when he heard Sam's voice.

"That's not true!" he was protesting vehemently.

Another boy's voice responded. "Yeah it is!"

There was another's, too: "I heard that your dad can't hold a job and that's why you move around so much."

"I heard he can't hold a job, cos he's drunk."

"No!" Sam sounded really upset.

"And that you've never had a proper home, cos you never stay anywhere."

"No, that's just cos none of the house-sellers will sell to him, cos he and his brother are too ugly!" called the first voice.

"Shut up about my brother." Sam's voice was less upset now and more warning.

"Oooohhhh…" chorused what Dean figured to be about three or four kids.

"Did we make you mad?" one of them laughed.

"Obviously," Sam replied.

That made all of them crack up. "Oh!" one of them exclaimed mock-fearfully, "we made him mad! Run, everyone!"

"Run from the geek!"

"Run from the _freak_!" someone corrected, which sent them all into peals of mean laughter again.

Dean gritted his teeth. He knew that Sam could kick their asses by himself, but nobody got to talk to his little brother like that. He walked out from behind the building casually, standing up straight and walking confidently. "Hey, Sammy," he called. "Was wondering where you'd got to. We going to go get some pie?"

Sam smiled at him. 'Go get some pie' was basically their code for 'are these idiots being rude and would you like me to kick their asses to Mars if they are?' They had decided this once for no real reason, and Sam was surprised that Dean still remembered, since they rarely used this code system. "Ice cream instead?" he answered. ('Nah, I got it.')

The four (it had been four) other boys were watching this seemingly random exchange with confusion and some apprehension; they hadn't expected Dean to show up. Since Dean went to the junior high, and Sam to the elementary school, and the junior high got out several minutes before the elementary school, none of Sam's classmates had ever really seen Dean before. "You sure?" Dean checked.

"Positive. Let's go." Sam picked up his backpack and shouldered past the other kids, not even sparing a glance back at them.

When they were out of earshot, Dean asked, "I overheard some of that."

Sam shrugged nonchalantly. "Yeah?"

"Those kids were getting pretty harsh."

"They're just idiots. Nothing I can't handle."

Dean looked over at him fondly. "I know you can." He reached over to ruffle Sam's hair (man, it was getting out of control again; it now reached halfway to the kid's shoulders) and the fourth-grader ducked away.

"Dean!" he protested. "Stop it!"

"Nope," Dean replied. "Hey, you actually wanna go get some ice cream?"

"Got homework," Sam responded.

"So?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "So, unlike you, I want to get good grades."

"Hey! I'm getting good grades."

"Mostly Bs," Sam reminded. "And two Cs."

Dean frowned, puzzled. "How the heck do you know what grades I have?"

"Cos I heard Dad talking to you about them," Sam told him. They had to stop for traffic, and Dean banged the "walk" button several times. "Hitting it more than once doesn't make the light turn white any faster," Sam informed him.

"Thanks, dude. I'll be sure to keep that in mind," Dean said as he punched the button three more times. The light turned white. "Hey, look at that!" he proclaimed. "I'm magic."

Sam rolled his eyes again. "Yeah...you're magic. Or all of the cars had already gone by," he added in a mutter as they crossed the road.

Half an hour later, Dean had convinced Sam to take half the afternoon off to go get ice cream, and now they were sitting on the front steps of the ice cream shop. Dean had gotten chocolate in a cone, and Sam had gotten mint chocolate chip in a cup.

"So, Sammy," Dean started.

Sam glanced over at him. "Yes?"

"You know what those jerks were saying wasn't true, yeah?"

Sam coughed slightly. "What? Of course. Like I said, they're idiots. It's not like they actually know anything about why we move around so often."

"Not the part I was talking about," Dean clarified. "The part about you being a freak."

Sam stiffened, ever-so-slightly. "Uh-huh…" he said cautiously.

"You're not a freak, Sammy," Dean said seriously. "Just because you're smarter than them does not make you a freak."

"I know…"

"Just making sure. And you know I really would kick their asses if you wanted me to, right?"

Sam raised his eyebrows. "Look, Dean, I appreciate it, but I could do that myself. Which is another reason that they call me a freak; I'm a geek but I'm also stronger and faster than all of them put together." He didn't sound too upset, maybe just a little bitter.

"That isn't a bad thing, Sammy."

"Tell them that," Sam muttered back.

"Okay."

Sam looked at him quickly. "No, I didn't mean that! Ugh. Dean, drop it? 'Kay? 'Chick flick moment' or whatever you call it is over."

Dean gave in. "Yeah, I got that. But, seriously-"

"_Dude_. Moment's gone."

Dean didn't say anything else, and together they finished their ice cream and walked back to the apartment. Sam finished his homework easily, and then badgered Dean into doing his own. Dean complained, but he was glad to have a little brother who looked out for Dean as much as he looked out for Sam.

* * *

><p><em>Thanks to angellec for this great prompt; "<em>_For a suggestion how about little Sammy telling his friends how great Dean is, and Dean who is having a really bad day overhearing it. Sammy's " friends" especially one who is a j*** call him a liar because they never saw Dean as his school gets out later. Dean walks up when Sammy starts getting upset. Ages 7-8/11-12." I hope I did it justice even if I didn't follow it totally! Thanks for the suggestion, angellec! And thank you everyone for reading! Please tell me what you thought of this addition; I love hearing from you. Love you all! DFTBA! ~Clare _


End file.
